


Prisoner of a Phantom

by musicxnotes3



Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Psychological Drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-04-04 11:55:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4136553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicxnotes3/pseuds/musicxnotes3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam Manson never expected to find the mansion at the edge of town, much less go into it. But after being chased in a deadly storm, she's forced to take shelter inside. After an awkward encounter with the "Butler", Phantom decides to keep the fearless and intriguing girl, much to her dismay. The small town of Amity Park becomes even smaller as Sam suddenly finds herself struggling to remember simple events, and while Sam tries to uncover the mysteries of a tragedy, Phantom remains adamant to keep them hidden.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prisoner of a Phantom

Prologue  
  
  
Sam Manson loved the rain.  
It was fitting too, since she was a goth.   
She loved all things dreary, all things dark. She preferred the rain over the sun. She preferred deep hues of blacks and purples over bright pinks and blues. She embraced the dark, embraced the differences and mystery it contained.   
But that’s not why she loved the rain.  
If you asked her, she’d never tell you why she really loved the rain. It was totally, completely un-goth, something you’d never expect since it was, after all, rain. But she didn’t love the rain because it was dark, or because it was dreary.   
No, she loved it because of its elegance. She loved the art it produced, the sense of nature taking care of her earth. She loved that it was complicated, that the amount of rain had to be just right, lest all of creation die should the balance be thrown off. It was a delicate system, and it was perfectly upheld. One could suppose this was why she loved plants; it was her way of playing  mother nature, and she rejoiced in taking part of the beauty.   
More than that, she simply loved the smell, the sounds, the very idea appealing to all her senses.  
Which was why she wouldn’t be able to tell you why she was running through it that fine day in September, when the leaves that just started to fall and the smells, the sounds, the feeling, were that much more exquisite.   
“Where you going, goth girl?” A jock called behind her, his feet tromping through puddles so close to her she could feel the tiniest bit of a splash on her leg.   
She ignored him, concentrating solely on running away rather than trash-talking. Although, had the circumstances been different, she would by no means mind tearing them a new one.  
Paulina had dropped behind long ago, her voice breathy and exhausted. She claimed it was because she didn’t want to ruin her perm, but honestly, her hips were looking a bit too big these days. Having everyone do everything for her had certainly begun to take it’s toll.   
Karma, Sam snorted.  
But Dash and his gang were football players. They ran twice this fast and twice this distance every day. They could easily keep up, and they could just as easily break her down. The thought kept her moving, her combat boots pounding against the wet pavement.  
Sam wasn’t really a runner, in fact, by this point pure adrenaline was fueling her stamina, and it was only a matter of time until it ran out.  
“Come on, we promise we won’t hurt you!” Another one added, though it was anything but convincing, clearly it’s purpose was only to mock her.  
She was just thankful she hadn’t tripped like in movies.  
But that didn’t mean she wasn’t slowing down. She needed somewhere to go, somewhere to hide where they wouldn’t dare step foot.  
And, is if sensing her thoughts, it appeared, like it hadn’t been there centuries before.  
It may have appealed to many buyers, it’s classic white victorian design enchanting her on the spot, but she could see why people strayed, why it had been neglected. The pillars on the front porch were swallowed up by ivy and vines, twisting and winding around the fairy tale structure. The front porch had dulled, it’s pure white color dimmed to a dirty grey. But nonetheless, it held a fascinating allure, pieces of the mansion still beautiful like they hadn’t aged a day. One of which was, ironically, a lovely and brand new looking garden. Bushes were shaped like mythical creatures, flowers were vibrant colors despite the time of year, and the grass was a country house green. Stain glass windows lit up in the lightning that passed, furthering her plan that this house was made for her. It was made to be her hideout.  
It’s appearance hardly bothered her, she liked the dark and the dreary, and besides this  
this 5 floor mansion looked like it had a story to tell. She glanced to make sure the tall, iron black gate was unlocked.  
While it may frighten off the pack of carnivorous dogs chasing her, it wouldn't be able to scare her off.   
But the strange thing was, that the closer she got, the creepier the mansion became. It was not the appearance that was frightening to her, it was the feeling it emanated. It felt dark, it felt dreary, and she wasn’t sure why suddenly, they both felt so petrifying. They’d never bothered her before.  
The rain pelted the street, painting the cement a darker color. The sound was calming, singing her anxieties to sleep as she quickened her pace. She felt a hand reach for her, far too close for comfort. It nearly had her, just missing her by a hair. She could feel herself slowing, like you would in a bad dream. She could never move fast enough.  
So she decided, against her growing fears, that the mansion was meant for her. She no longer had time to continue running, she needed a hideout, and what better alternative? Besides, it was only a house, and it was perfect for her anyway. She imagined smelling the rich, red roses growing beyond the gate and running her fingers along the smooth, cool glass of the windows. She wouldn’t have to stay long, just long enough for Dash and his band of idiots to disperse.   
With new determination, she forced her feet to continue moving, turning onto the crooked path that led up the hill and into the courtyard. The deep orange and red bricks were cracked, but artfully arranged into a pattern. Dash and his pack slowed, momentarily stunned by the scary feeling that bloomed in the pits of all of their stomachs as soon as they stepped foot on the brick. But Sam was relentless, unfazed by the sense of warning. She fearlessly jogged on up the hill until she reached the gate. She stared only for a moment, which she convinced herself was purely to admire the graceful black swirls the tall iron bars twisted into.   
She made sure to slam and lock the gate behind her, just in time for them to crash into it.   
Their fists gripped and smashed against the metal, their faces poking through like feral dogs gnashing their teeth at fresh meat. She stood her ground, seemingly unaffected by their unpleasant display. Actually, she felt all that trash-talk from earlier she'd resisted flowing back.  
"Have fun walking home in the rain." She commented, though a bit breathless, as she proudly displayed both of her middle fingers.   
They cursed, yelling profanities at her back as she walked away.   
“We’ll get you Manson!” Dash yelled.  
“Go to hell, goth freak!”  
“I hope you get axe murdered in there!”  
She smirked, taking their insults as a sign of their anger. They lost, and they were upset. Unable to resist herself, she turned, adding one last remark for her victory. “Not today assholes.”  
She marched up the path, her breathing rough and ragged. Without turning her head, she eyed the front garden in the courtyard. The plants, strange enough, did not even sway with the raging storm or fierce gusts of wind. One of them even seemed to glow, it’s vines stretching further over the flower bed. She figured it must’ve been her mind playing tricks on her, after all, she did just have quite the workout.   
Hesitantly, losing her triumphant strut, she stepped up the creaky front porch. She glanced around, noticing things she hadn’t before, like the old, cobwebbed porch swing, hardly swaying in the storm. Weeds gathered and clung to the porch, crawling  up to the door but stopping halfway. But that wasn’t the eerie part. The eerie part was the scattered and broken weapons, piled up in different places. They looked strange, almost futuristic, not your ordinary hand gun.   
She half-wished she could just camp out on the porch, it was long enough. But the storm was growing, not settling, which insinuated that it was going to last all night, and she was not looking forward to catching hypothermia.   
Once again, the house seemed to read her mind.  
The door opened with a groan, an invitation she was in no place to refuse.   
Gathering up with what was left of her courage, she continued to push it open, peering inside before stepping in.  
Her limbs ached with the immense amount of energy she’d used, her thoughts limited to rest and water.   
“Hello?” She called dubiously, water dripping from my body and leaving a trail as she walked about the house.   
Thunder boomed outside, vibrating through the house. She flinched slightly, glancing around uncertainly.   
The mansion was old, and unlike hers, held much darkness. The only light came from the flashes of lightning, and it was hardly enough time to gain knowledge of her surroundings. The structure of the rooms was also, thanks to her parents, strikingly different from her own gigantic house. While her parents decked out their mansion with pinks and light blues, this one was filled with deep, royal reds, purples and greens. The tapestries and the patterns oozed a sense of elegance and high status.   
Sculptures and rich, detailed paintings decorated the walls, their shadows coming to life in the brief, white flashes.   
Sam shivered, though whether or not it had come from her soaked body or the house itself was hard to determine. She stumbled into what felt like a living room, a fireplace revealed with a flare of lightning.   
Running into a tall armchair, she maneuvered over to the fireplace, her only guidance the brief flashes of light the storm offered.   
When she reached it, she felt around for a book of matches she thought she’d seen from across the room. It was perched on the stone lining, like someone had been expecting her.   
She felt a chill go down her spine at the thought, goosebumps erupting on her arms.   
Nevertheless, she lit a match, too afraid to look around. She went onto her knees to throw it into the fireplace, which was stacked with fresh, dry wood. She stared questioningly at it, her mind drifting away with confusion. The mansion was supposed to be abandoned, so why did it look like it wasn’t? The garden looked tended, and, aside from the dust, things seemed… Cared for.   
The match was reaching the end, and the burn brought her back to reality. She gasped, dropping it just as it went out. Rolling her eyes at herself, she lit up another, this time wasting no time to throw it in the fire.  
The wood lit almost instantly.  
She could have sworn the flames were green, if only for a second.  
But aside from that, one would expect that it would take a minute or two. If she wasn’t skeptical before, she was now.  
Still, the warmth that filled the room was an immediate relief for the chill in her limbs. She sighed, leaning back on her arms.   
She could see things more clearly now, including the fine detailed brush strokes of the painting above the fireplace. It was hard to tell who it was of with the holes burnt through it. He looked young, 14 or 15, and although she couldn’t see much, striking, cerulean blue eyes were left almost unscathed. They seemed to stare right at her.  
A floorboard creaked behind her, making her jump and snap her head to where it had come from. There was no one.  
Still, she continued to stare, as if challenging the invisible being to make one more move.  
She narrowed her eyes, trying to focus on the face she could see peeking from behind the wall.   
“Who’s there?” She demanded, momentarily forgetting she was the one trespassing.   
“You shouldn’t be here.” A shaky, but warning voice responded.  
“Who are you?” She got to her feet, standing ready for any threat. She wasn’t much, but she packed quite the punch.   
“Nobody.” The voice said, “But you really should go.”  
Slowly, cautiously, she stepped closer to the voice. “Well, I can’t really go anywhere. See the storm?”  
The voice laughed humorlessly. “That storm is the least of your worries. Now go.”  
She was close now, just a few steps away. “Not until you tell me who you are!”  
She grabbed him by the shoulder, glaring into his light blue eyes. He was dark skinned, a terrified look on his face.   
The candles all around them were lit by a neon green flame.   
“You’ve done it now.” The dark skinned boy narrowed his eyes, “Now it’s too late.”  
She looked around, visibly shaken by the impossible display. “Are you the one who’s doing this?”  
The boy shook his head. “No. If I were, we both wouldn’t be here.”  
Sam kept her hands firm at her sides, a gesture she hoped would indicate she would not go down without a fight. The boy looked like he’d seen it all before, sympathy in his blue-green eyes as he stayed silent, awaiting further development.  
The stairs creaked, and although Sam’s response to the sound was immediate, the boy looked like he knew it was coming, keeping his eyes locked on the girl’s face and stepping away from her.  
She clenched her fists, her body reacting to ‘fight or flight’ responses. There was no where to run; the storm was raging, and Dash and his crew were sure to be waiting for her back in town. She wouldn’t be an easy target, no matter how powerful her foe was. If the being insisted on taking her down, she’d be sure to take it down with her.  
“Who are you?” She ordered, her voice booming through the large house.   
A low, dark chuckle was her only response. It made her bones chill. The hairs at the back of her neck stood up with every step the figure took, his presence igniting a sense of fear she’d only encountered once before inside of her.  
She swallowed, a reaction to her nervousness. “Tell me who you are!”  
“That’s bold of you,” A silky, male voice answered casually. A tremor of alarm coursed through her body, her face contorting in fright as he came down the stairs.   
He smirked at her, seeming quite boyish despite his physical appearance. “You’re the one trespassing, you know.”  
She gripped her damp black and green skirt. She looked down, not wanting to show him the obvious intimidation she was feeling.   
She could feel his eyes trailing up and down her body, judging her. She was used to judgment at this point, but it was the way he judged her. He was looking at her as if he was amused, trying to decide if she was worth keeping alive. Indeed, he had not changed since she last saw him.  
“You’re the one who left the door open.” She remarked, angry with herself for sounding weaker than she wanted. She had learned that people don’t like conflict, and if she made it seem like she was trouble, maybe he’d let her go.  
But there was no one here to notice what he could do, and even if he did do it, he wouldn’t get caught.  
He laughed openly now, watching her flinch at the sudden loud noise in the quiet house. “How could I not?” He said, composing himself, “It’s not often we get guests.”  
She glanced up at him, slowly, but she had to do a double take. He was… Inhuman, to say the least. His eyes, though beautiful, were glowing a toxic green, his hair a snowy white. His figure was tall, more muscular, broad shoulders that could snap her in two. Despite the oddness of his features, she found him rather beautiful.  
An odd sense of deja vu rushed through her.  
Had she met him before?  
He met her stare head on, his head raised slightly, arrogantly, like he was above her. “What’s your name?” He inquired.  
She narrowed her eyes. “I asked you first.”  
His smirk grew. “Overruled. You’re the trespasser here.”  
“I thought I was a guest.” She challenged.  
He gazed at her solemnly, so long that she felt a bead of sweat roll down her neck. His eyes, though beautiful, were unforgiving, hard and lacking any certain emotion.   
She was more than relieved when his lips curved into a smile, a rich chuckle falling from his lips.  
“Alright,” He said, “Fair enough.”  
She had to force herself from smiling, a sense of pride swelling in her chest.   
“Most people call me Phantom, the owner of this estate.” He motioned to the dark skinned boy, who was standing awkwardly to the side. “That is the caretaker, a friend of mine, Tucker Foley.”  
She was quiet, nodding at Tucker, who made no move to acknowledge her back.   
Phantom smirked. “Your turn, and I expect something more original than what those dogs were shouting at you outside.”  
She blushed. He heard that?  
“Sam,” She did a mock curtsy, “Manson.”  
“Sam,” He repeated, her name sounding better from him than anyone else, “Much more unique than ‘goth freak’, but it’s boyish, don’t you think?”  
She rolled her eyes. “If you call me Samantha I’ll have to kill you.”  
“I think,” He began, stepping down the final stairs to her, “Samantha is prettier.”  
She stepped back defensively. “I don’t like it.”  
He grinned at her distrust. He shared a glance with Tucker before returning his smoky gaze to her. “You’re entertaining.”  
She scoffed. “I’m what?”  
To her astonishment, he floated to her, standing just a couple inches away. She was still trying to adapt to the situation, her eyes staring at his feet disbelievingly. She’d barely realized he’d started talking again until his gloved hand was pulling her chin up.   
“You amuse me.” He said, his glowing green eyes glinting.  
She was lost for a few moments, his eyes hypnotizing, a ghostly smoke seeming to swirl in them. But the reality was, Phantom was dangerous, and she shouldn’t have been in that mansion that September day.   
She brushed his hand away. “I’m not meant for your amusement, Phantom.”  
“Oh but you are,” He argued, “You see, Samantha, you’re the first one in years to step foot in my mansion. That’s not just a coincidence.”  
She clenched her teeth, trying her best to remain unaffected by his words. “I was just trying to find a place to hide. And I told you, if you call me Sam, I’ll murder you.”  
“Were you?” he argued, a challenging smirk on his face as he added, “And I’d like to see you try, I’m sure it’d be quite the show.”  
She glared at him, silently demanding he keep his distance. “I’m sure you noticed the pack of mutts chasing me? You did mention earlier you heard them.”  
“Yes, why were they chasing you?” He questioned slyly, his voice slow, captivating.   
She glowered at him, pointedly glancing between him and the distance left to display her discomfort. “I don’t think that’s really your business.”  
“Isn’t it?” He countered, growing closer.  
She stepped back once again, her fierce eyes never leaving his. Surely, he was not so oblivious he couldn’t see she was very much uncomfortable? “No, it isn’t.”  
“You’re staying in my home,” He said, “I think I deserve to know why you’re here.”  
“Who said I’m staying?” She replied skeptically, taking another step back.  
He followed her every move without hesitation. “You think I’m just going to let you leave?”  
She walked backwards into a chair, nearly toppling over. “You can’t make me stay.”  
He laughed humorlessly. “I can’t? And why’s that? You’ve got so many people looking for you back home?”  
“Actually yes,” She lied, “And as soon as the rain stops they’ll come find me.”  
He stared at her threateningly, an amused glint in his eyes. He grabbed her arm, pulling her close enough for him to whisper in her ear. “You’re a terrible liar, Sammy.”  
Her heart raced, her feet wanting to bolt so badly but not having the strength to. He couldn’t have known that. He couldn’t have known that she had no parents. How could he know? She’d been through so much today, and all she wanted to do was lay down.   
“Are you going to kill me?” She asked, her voice quivering ever so slightly.  
“Kill you?” He scoffed, “I told you Sammy, I think you’re entertaining.”   
“Besides,” He purred in her ear, “You’re my guest.”  
He ran his fingers down her arm gently. She shuddered, and for some sick reason, he looked amused. She felt queasy.   
Sam Manson loved the rain.  
But right then, she was certain it did not love her back.   
It had cursed her into a fate worse than death.  
It cursed her into a fate that made her the prisoner of a ruthless Phantom.


End file.
